Every Time We Say Goodbye
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Goodbyes are hard, even when they aren't forever. Wanda and Peter don't like them any better than anybody else. Little two-part family fluff/angstfest.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : So guess who waved his beloved Twinface off at the station this morning? :'( It's been so good to have her here for the weekend. I just had to take it out in fic form! This is part one of two, there may be a delay in part two being posted.**

Part 1 - Wanda

It is always so hard to let go, at the end of the visit. Pulling apart from that one final tight hug feels like it should be accompanied by a ripping sound, by physical pain. Every time, it comes with a touch of heartbreak, with anxiety and upset. It never gets easier no matter how many times it is repeated.

Part of her wishes that he would not come to see her off. Would not wait whilst the car drives away. Would not wave goodbye with a smile that would fool anybody apart from her. She will feel her heart sink when she sees the car turn into the driveway of the Academy, as though it will be taking her to her execution rather than home to her team. Tony insists on sending one of his fleet of limousines for her. If he's trying to impress someone, he's failing – her brother might be impressed if it were a Porsche, but a limo is just another car to him. She will feel for his hand and knot her fingers tightly into his – his hands are always cold, always feel so soft and slender in hers. She knows they are deceptively strong, but she will feel his fragility in those bony fingers. She will wait until the very last moment, when the car has pulled to a halt, before she admits to herself that it's time to go.

She will turn then and put her arms around him one last time, the way they have done since forever, since before birth. Their bodies fit together like jigsaw pieces, making both feel whole before they are abruptly broken again. She will grab him tightly and lift him up – he hates it when she does that, but ever since she discovered she could, she can't resist. He's taller that her now though, and she only manages to pull him onto his tiptoes. She will crush his strong little body against hers and take one last deep breath of violet shampoo and the lingering sweetness that she's sure comes from eating so much chocolate, and the indefinable masculine scent that is simply Him. Fill her lungs with it as if she could take some part of him with her.

She will pick up her bag, get into the car – he will hold the door for her, give her that little wave as he closes it, a smile that doesn't touch his eyes though it looks genuine enough unless you know him well. She looks back only once, just as the car turns out of the driveway, will see him standing on the front steps, lifting his hand to wave to her. She will blow a kiss, or flip him the bird, or sometimes just wave back – she likes to let him guess which it will be. Then she will turn back and not look up until she is home.

She will slouch down in the comfortable plush leather seats, and the collar of her coat will rise up and reveal a lingering breath of chocolate and violets that tugs at her heart and makes her eyes prickle. The driver knows by now not to speak to her, only to drive, she will not respond if he tries to make small-talk, ask about her visit. She is too wrapped up in the yanking pull of the ties that bind her to her twin, hurting like an aching tooth as they pull tighter over the increasing distance. In a mile, she can no longer sense his chattering mind, further than that and the distance will feel like a yawning void separating them.

She won't cry. She's not the crying type. But she will ache, and long, and begin planning when she can next get back to Westchester to see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2 – Peter

He wishes sometimes that they could turn back the clocks, return to those years when they had been under the same roof and free to spend every hour they wished together. When they never had to be apart, never had to pick up the 'phone to get hold of each other. He knows that those years were not good ones for either of them, but misses the company all the same. Knows that he would take all that pain over again rather than be apart from his twin so much.

The desperate way she gropes for his fingers when the flashy car turns into the driveway will make him feel depressed, anxious, a little sick, a little like it's going to take a lot of junk and a very long very fast run to lift that feeling. Even then, her absence will remain in him like a gaping hole that can't be filled. Her hands are warm, a little rough - she should really use some good hand lotion, and he makes a mental note to send her some.

The tickles of her red curls against his cheek as she grabs him in her arms is an insistent, irritating feeling that he will miss so badly. She squeezes him harder than she really should around the waist, he can feel her bangles against the bottom of his ribs, painful and sharp, digging into him in physical reflection of the pain of separation from her. She will squeeze so hard it is like she is trying to fuse them together. He will squeeze her back just as hard - though not with his full strength - and wish that they would stick that way forever, mould together into one being that would never be lonely and afraid and worried again. The vanilla scent of her perfume is such a comfort to him, reminds him of root beer and old books and ice cream. He will let her squeeze him painfully hard, lift him onto his tiptoes the way she likes to. Sometimes she will even pick him up and swing him, but not now, now they are too sad for that frivolity. He will tolerate the crushing sensation digging up under his diaphragm, the bracelets that will now shove hard against his spine, lets her half-strangle him just because having her body so tightly against his feels right and proper, even if that squeeze makes him feel a little queasy.

He will hide his face in her hair as long as he can, hope that when he lifts his head his eyes will not be rimmed with telltale red, or worse actually leaking. Will swallow down the sobs that rise up in his throat, knowing that his too-easy tears will hurt her if she sees them. Hold the door for her and wave her off, give her a brave smile that he knows doesn't fool her, but it seems important to keep up the act. He's meant to be the older twin, meant to be strong and capable and independent now. He wonders sometimes why he tries to front with his sister, when she knows that under that veneer he is the soft, vulnerable boy who used to cry himself to sleep in her arms.

He will stay on the steps of the Mansion until the car has turned and he can no longer see her. No socialising for the rest of the day. Perhaps a hug with Angie if he's up to it, but mostly just keeping alone, knowing that no company will replace hers, and longing for her to come back. Will eventually tired himself out and try to eat away the emptiness she has left, doze off having failed and sleep fitfully, wishing he could snuggle into the vanilla-scented curls and have her tell him, as she always did, that no matter what they would always be alright as long as they had each other.


End file.
